Just So
by Morna
Summary: Just a one-shot on an unexpected side of Ganondorf Dragmire that Zelda discovers during her captivity. Lightly implied Zelgan. No particular spot in the timeline.


Just So

**This has no particular place in the timeline. Mildly implied Zelgan.**

Zelda narrowed her eyes at the line of characters on the page of the book she was studying. The curving Hylian script blurred in front of her eyes, and with a sigh, she set it down on the table in front of her. There was nothing more to be gleaned from that book than from the fifteen others she had perused for information on her captor. The princess was beginning to believe he had done it on purpose, that he had hand selected these volumes that spoke of him in only passing phrases or hints. Her mouth quirked into a bitter smirk, she could all too easily picture that.

While the books did provide some insight into his character and demeanor, they mostly said the same things over and over. He was arrogant, power hungry, calculating, and ruthless. Oh yes, he was certainly living up to that part of his reputation. Ganondorf Dragmire did not walk anywhere, he strode with purpose and a swagger that was both impressive and galling. When she had confronted him about his villainy, he had thrown his head back and laughed, reveling in her outrage. She was always careful to guard her tongue around him when forced to interact with the Dark Lord, knowing that he might be able to pry some piece of useful intelligence from it.

There was one thing though that the books never mentioned. Lord Ganondorf was an obsessively and thoroughly orderly man. Everything in his eyes had a proper place and could not stray from it. She had noticed it immediately when first laying eyes on him. His cape had been red as blood and immaculately pressed, his black armor polished until it gleamed. When she had first been shown her new quarters, she had been impressed by the state of them. Zelda had been expecting a barren cell with straw in one corner and a bucket in the other with no hope for a bed whatsoever. Instead, she had been brought into a spacious set of rooms that were somberly but finely furnished. There had not been a single speck of dust evident or a tear in the curtains or rugs. Even the parchment lying on the desk had been neatly stacked though she had no idea who she was supposed to write to.

Everything within the stone walls of his black, vast castle worked in absolute harmony with a routine that would be the envy of many a schoolmaster. All of the comings and goings operated like clockwork. It seemed even her guards marched in step whenever they changed watch.

"Why are you so consumed with the idea of perfection?" she had had the nerve to ask him once.

He had stared at her from the end of the long table at which they were seated. His golden eyes had seemed to glow in time with the flickering of the fire. He had steepled his dark thick fingers in thought. "Because," he answered in a deep, rolling voice, "nothing is worth achieving if you do not have perfection in mind as your goal. One does not get to where I am without being that way. After all, Princess, not all of us were born with the divine right to rule." He had only smiled at her then.

She had passed the rest of the meal in silence.

Despite his somewhat acerbic nature, Zelda could not say she had been mistreated in any way. Her food was always hot and fresh, her clothes were always clean, and he had never so much as laid a hand on her. That was not to say that she liked being a prisoner by any means, but she had read enough histories in her time to realize that things could have been much worse.

Still, even though her chambers were relatively comfortable, she found herself growing easily bored with the constant and steady state of things. Nothing changed. Her guards were always boarish moblins who never spoke to her or if they did she could not make it out from their normal growling tones. The dresses that she wore were the same she had been wearing for the past half year day in and day out. Perhaps most disturbing was that Ganondorf himself never seemed to change either. His face was always calm and controlled and his voice even and level headed. The most expression she had seen on his face was that knowing and discomfiting smirk and a look of displeasure he had once displayed upon finding one of the tapestries on the wall to be fraying. He had, of course, promptly had it repaired.

It occurred to Zelda on that day that she was tired and disgusted of reading books that told her nothing, she would be the one to change something. But what? Her clothes were out of the question. She did not care to think what he might have her wear if she should ruin her old dresses.

Restlessness took hold of her, and she got up from her couch to stand in front of the one mirror in the room. She had no makeup to apply and no jewelry to wear. The only thing left to her was her hair. She was wearing it down currently and allowing it to fall over her shoulders and down her back. What could she do with it when she had no pins or combs? Tugging on one strand, she decided she should braid it. She had seen a number of young peasant women wearing it in that fashion and found it rustically charming. The princess smiled at her reflection. Yes, she would braid it. It was not much of a change, but it was better than none.

She searched through the small vanity to find a leather thong to bind the end of her hair with and then an old comb made of yellowed bone. Humming triumphantly to herself that she finally had something to keep her hands busy for a little while, she went about the task of styling her hair into a braid. The comb ran through her golden locks and managed to get caught on every snag and snarl until she painfully forced it through the tangles. Many times she ended up pulling out clumps of hair along with it. Zelda gritted her teeth and persevered as she continued to comb out of her blonde hair until it lay smooth and straight.

It was as she toyed idly with the strands that she realized she had no idea how to braid hair. The Hylian remembered that she had had it styled that way once as a child, but that had been a servant's doing and not her own. She scowled in frustration as the hair fell limply from her grasp, and she puzzled over how to go about it. It couldn't be that hard. Children could do it. She chewed the inside of cheek in thought as her fingers began to move of their own accord and weave the thick strands of hair in and out of one another.

She looked up into the mirror to inspect her results, cursed, and started over four more times before the results were satisfactory to her. Pulling on the loose and sloppy braid, she had to admit to herself she had seen it done much better. There was no helping that though. She had done the best she could, and it was almost time for her evening meal.

Taking a seat, she waited for the customary knock on her door that would be the guard sent to escort her to Ganondorf's dining hall. Zelda bounced her leg impatiently as she counted down the seconds in her head. On zero, a quick rapping came at the thick wooden door, and she stood to open it.

On the other side, a dim-looking moblin awaited her with a spear in his left hand with his oddly dog-like face set into an expression of serene resignation of his task. As she walked beside the hulking figure, the princess could not help but wonder if he had had any dreams beyond this life of constant guard duty. Could moblins even have such thoughts as dreams? Did they have any inkling of what it meant to have a future beyond the next day? She studied the specimen out of the corner of her eye and silently determined that if this moblin were capable of it, he would have dreamed of being a famous painter who did landscapes. That seemed strangely fitting as she noticed the way his eyes roamed around their surroundings and did not stay in one fixed place like many of the other moblins she had observed.

She was quite pleased with herself and was concocting up a backstory for her monstrous escort when their journey ended as they stopped abruptly in front of the double doors that led into the dining hall. The story concerning Ganondorf's minion fled from her mind as she looked at those heavy, carved doors. A stone settled in the pit of her stomach and a lump formed in her throat. He had summoned her here many times before but facing the Gerudo never became easier. He unnerved her with his sameness. She knew that when she looked at him, she was seeing someone older than her father or her grandfather or even her great grandfather. Yet he looked no older than his late thirties. Every hair on his head was still as red as fire. The only wrinkles on his dark face were the faint lines around his mouth from frowning.

The doors opened wide. Zelda took three steps forward before they slammed shut behind her. One hand reached up to fidget nervously with her braid.

He was sitting at the end of the dining table with his food growing cold. His broad shoulders were hunched as he leaned forward to examine a stack of papers in front of him. The amber of his eyes were mere slits as he squinted to read it better. She took another step towards the large chair she normally occupied for dinner. The clack of her heel on the marble floor resounded throughout the room. His head shot up as he drew himself away from his task.

He waved a large hand at her to sit down and stirred his congealing soup. The food was set in front of her by a servant who had not been there before and vanished just as quickly before she could get a look at them. Her eyes rolled towards the rafters to see if they might be lurking overhead, but she saw nothing but shadows. There were not even cobwebs.

Settling the silk napkin into her lap, she took up a spoon and dipped into her first course. He did the same, ever a stickler for propriety and manners. For some time, they ate in complete silence with only the clinking of silverware to accompany their meal. As she finished her soup and moved onto the entrée, she noticed that his eyes occasionally flitted to her and then back down. His face never betrayed what was the cause of this behavioral tic.

As she was moving the last bits of lamb and curry around on her plate, he cleared his throat and began to speak. "You're hair," he started, "I see you've done something different with it." The tone of his voice implied he did not find the difference pleasing to his tastes.

"Well, yes," she answered hesitantly, "I just got sick of the way it looked down so I thought I might try something else."

"I see."

She made a humming noise. "Is that all you have to say?" She felt some defiance kindling in her at last at seeing this change in his mood.

"Oh no, I have a great deal to say about many things, but you're hair does leave something to be desired."

Her brows furrowed in confusion and mild agitation at his slight admonishment. "What exactly is that?"

"It is . . . messy," he concluded.

She opened her mouth to reply with some snide remark but never got it out as he stood up from his chair and approached her with his typical air of authority.

Instinctively, she leaned back into the padding of her chair as he drew nearer with one hand outstretched. He stopped and put his hands behind his back upon recognizing her reaction. "I was only going to correct it."

"What would you know about a woman's hair? Perhaps I like it like this." Her hands gripped the armrests until her knuckles turned white.

"Tch," he huffed as his right hand extended forward again and gently grasped the unraveling braid that had begun to come loose of its binding. "I know more than you might think. I know what a braid is meant to look like, and that is not it." His thumb flicked dismissively over the fraying end of the thick rope of hair.

She rose to her feet and tried her best to meet his judging glare with one of her own. In the end, she let her eyes fall to the hollow of his throat, brown and scarred like the rest of him.

"I grew up with five sisters," he murmured quietly, growing lost in thought. "They would sit and fuss with their own hair and mine for hours on end, and theirs' was much longer and thicker than yours."

"Well, I had no such sisters to teach me the ways of how to properly style one's hair. I had only servants, and they-"

"Never taught you how to care for it yourself?" He raised an eyebrow in question that implied it did not need an answer. It was clearly written on her face.

"No," she said calmly, not daring to move her eyes or any other part of her from her rigid stance.

"Typical of Hylian royalty," he commented with a derisive snort. "They teach you to rule a kingdom but little else." He placed firm hands on her shoulders and spun her around so her back was to him.

"What are you doing?" she asked in alarm, fear making her heart pound in her chest. She half-expected the sharp edge of a blade to be pressed to her throat.

"I am only going to fix it." With surprisingly deft fingers, he undid the knot that held it all together and let her locks tumble free. He raked his fingers through it quickly until it cascaded down her back once more.

Her spine was ramrod straight in hesitant terror. Her feet begged her to let them take her as far away from this man, this legendary murderer, as fast as possible. Instead, she remained in place like a deer caught in the sight of a hunter with an arrow aimed straight at her heart.

She swallowed and felt his hands begin to interlace three pieces of her hair in and out of one another until they had formed one strong, neat plait. He tightly tied the ends together before she let out a relieved breath.

"There," he said to himself, approval evident in that one word.

The princess struggled to regain control of her trembling limbs so that she could face him once again without letting him see how badly he had frightened her. The last thing she needed was for him to realize how afraid of him she truly was.

Licking her lips, she nodded in what was meant to convey agreement, but she was not certain she had succeeded in the endeavor.

Tenderly, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifted it up until his eyes bored into hers with all their golden intensity. "Much better," he breathed.

"Mmhmm," was all she could manage given the awkward state of things. The balance had just been shifted by that one out of place action. The order of their carefully constructed relationship had been thrown into disarray. He had stepped outside of his strict routine. He had lowered himself somehow for her, she sensed.

His eyes narrowed as he spotted a stray hair he had missed. Seemingly without thought, he tucked it behind her left ear. When the act was done, he took a quick step as if he began to remember the world they lived in and his place in it. His discomfort was palpable to her. He clearly had not intended to do any of this. The Gerudo stiffly arched his back and clasped his hands behind himself in military style like he was about to address a band of soldiers rather than the princess he had taken captive.

"I believe dinner is finished."

"Of course, yes," she muttered as she stepped back from him towards the door and safety.

"You may go now, please." With those last words, he turned on his heel and marched down the length of the hall to a door at the other end.

It slammed shut, and she jumped at the noise, suddenly alone. Zelda shivered and headed towards the main entrance to make a swift escape back to her pleasantingly boring and unchanging rooms.

**I wrote this as a way of relieving some of my post-finals stress. It was done pretty quickly and hastily. Meh, not my best. Wanted to try out a new lighter style of writing. Let me know what you thought.**


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